


A Lift Home

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs, Codependency, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Depression, Desperation, F/M, Face-Fucking, Facials, Hitchhiking, Hurt/Comfort, Jonerys, Loneliness, Modern AU, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, Smut inspo: Queen Adreena - Suck, Strangers, White Trash, dirtbag!Jonerys, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: On a cold night, Dany finds herself on the side of the road, down and out and alone. She spots headlights in the distance and sticks out a thumb.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 70
Kudos: 267





	A Lift Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoIgnis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/gifts).



> **Note:** Typically, I try my best to write 'healthy' relationships and dynamics. I wanted to portray something a little more jaded this time. Because sometimes we want things for the wrong reasons, and that's exactly what makes them so appealing.
> 
> **Possible trigger warning:** Homelessness and drug abuse/overdose
> 
> A little something for my apparent long-lost twin brother. One of the few pleasures of 2020 has been reading your stories and getting to know you and ~~y~~ our lovely wife. It's been a little bit _less_ of a pleasure galaxy-braining all the same damned ideas—including, _apparently_ , this one! 🤣 Many thanks to [Dragon_and_Direwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/), who not only helped dissuade you from writing something similar (lmao), but whose terrible influence is just oozing from this fic. Hope you two enjoy it! ♥
> 
> To everyone else - I'm sorry (lol). And happy new year!

* * *

The night was cold. The dark stretched for miles both ahead and behind her. She kept her eyes on the ground, stepping over the broken glass and trash that littered the shoulder. An overgrown field sat on one side of the road, trees loomed tall on the other, the woods silent but for the occasional howl.

A green mile marker in the distance began to glow, illuminating a large white number: nine.

_Finally_ , she thought, shivering. It'd been a while since a car had passed. Dragging the strap of her bag up her shoulder and holding it tight in her hand, she turned to face the approaching headlights and stuck out a thumb.

The car slowed. Dark red and rusted, its muffler a little too loud. It had a strange smell, like burning, but a little bit sweet.

She watched the figure inside as it stretched over the passenger seat to hand-crank the window.

"Where you headed?"

His voice was husky, his accent northern.

"Doesn't matter," she said. Because it didn't. There was no where she had to go, nowhere she wanted to be but far away from where she was.

His cigarette glowed red in the dark. She heard the doors unlock. "Get in," he said, and exhaled. Light from the radio caught in the hanging smoke. She could finally see him. Long, messy hair. Shaggy, unkempt beard. Black eyes. She might even describe him as good-looking.

Something about being alone with a strange man on a dark stretch of highway suddenly unnerved her. She thought of all the girls who'd hiked the same road never to be seen again. She wondered whether the face looking back at her was the last they ever saw. Another howl sounded in the distance. It gave her a bad gut feeling.

"C'mon," he urged. "Get in."

She took a step backward. "Don't tell me what to do."

He let out a low laugh that made her shiver. "Thought you wanted a ride, miss."

Heart racing, she turned and began to walk away. There was nothing around for miles but woods and overgrown fields. She felt stupid. Her legs were cold and numb and tired. If he wanted to chase her, he'd surely win.

The car idled beside her. So close she could hear rock music crackling low over his speakers.

"Please. Get in."

She kept her gaze forward. Ignored him.

"Highway's not safe."

She spun to face him, then, mustering all the attitude she could. _You would know_ , she wanted to say. But what she said was, "Fuck off."

"I'll fuck off," he replied, "If you agree to take my jacket or my car."

The vehicle pulled ahead of her and parked. The door swung open and the man got out.

" _Shit_ ," she muttered under her breath as he advanced on her.

He'd left the car on, keys still in the ignition. Panicked, she ran to the passenger door, pulled it open, threw her bag on the floor before crawling inside. She triggered the locks first, keeping him out and herself in. Turning on the overhead lights, she checked the door handles—half-expecting they'd have been removed. The car had an exterior trunk and no backseat, only enough space for a spare tire and a jack.

The air smelled musty inside. Like sweat and dirt and smoke. The ashtray was full of butts, the floor a scatter of empty pop cans, receipts, and wrappers. There were no weapons she could find, no tape or rope. She felt around under the seats, finding just a few more cans. Opening the glove box, she saw only registration papers and a map.

Quickly, she turned off the light and looked outside. The man was already a ways down the street—hands in his pockets, hood drawn up around his head.

She got into the driver's seat, adjusting it forward a couple of inches to reach the pedals. She'd only ever driven a handful of times. Had to pump each pedal before remembering which one was the gas. Shifting into drive, she lifted her foot off the brake, letting the car coast forward, hands shaking as she tried to drive in a straight line.

The passenger window was still cracked as she approached him.

"Hey!" she called.

The stranger turned his head.

"What the fuck, man."

"It's a piece of shit, I know, but it'll get you wherever it is you need to go. So take it," he urged.

"Is it stolen?"

Laughing, he retrieved the cigarette from his lips to flick the ash. He took another drag. "No," he said, voice muted as he held the smoke in his lungs.

"So you're just going to give your car away on a whim?"

He stopped walking, so she pressed down on the brake. Standing beside the window, he just shrugged. Like the damned thing meant nothing at all to him.

"Why?" she demanded.

He peered at her through the crack. Smoke rose like a pillar from his lips as he exhaled. "No car's worth seein' your face on the news, miss." He gave a slight nod and continued walking.

She blinked. Her eyes and nose started to sting. It wasn't much. But it was the kindest thing she'd heard in years. The car lurched as her foot slipped off the brake. " _Shit_ ," she spat, pressing it quickly and shifting into park. She pulled her bag from the floor and felt around for her phone. Her throat tightened as she dialed out.

" _Dany_ ?" Missi answered. " _It's late. You okay_?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she laughed and wiped a tear from her eye. "Have you got a pen handy?"

" _I'll get one_."

She listened as her friend shuffled through her things on the other end of the line, and turned on the overhead light. Again, she opened the glove box, pulling out the papers.

" _All right_."

Missi gave a small hum of acknowledgement each time Dany recited a new string of information—his name, address, plate number.

" _Who's Jon Snow_?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But he just gave me his car."

" _He what?_ "

"Gave me his car."

" _Why?_ "

"I was hitchhiking and he just... gave it to me."

" _Where are you?_ "

"The I-90. Mile nine," she said. "It's a dark red Chevy El Camino. Rusted hood. Front passenger side is missing a hubcap. Write all of that down, too."

" _What's all this for?_ "

"In case I go missing."

" _You're starting to scare me_."

"I'm fine," she promised, forcing a laugh. "Just being dramatic. But I should let you go. I haven't got much charge."

" _Be safe, Dany_."

"I will."

Missandei was Dany's best friend in the world. Her only friend, in truth. Perhaps the only person who might care if she vanished. Problem was, she lived a world away. It'd been years since they'd last seen each other, since she'd been to Essos. And without Viserys now, she was truly alone.

And while it might be nice to have a place to stay, she couldn't bring herself to keep the car.

Slowly, she coasted forward again until she caught up with the man.

"Hey," she called again. "What's your name?"

"Jon."

_Good start_ , she thought. "Throw me your wallet."

He smiled with one side of his mouth, pulling a hand from his pocket to retrieve his cigarette. "I don't think so, miss," he said. "But I've got about forty bucks on me. You can have that too, if it helps."

"I don't want your money," she snapped. Realizing she was veering from the shoulder into the road, she swerved to correct it before pulling to a stop. "I just want to see your license. I'll give it back."

His eyes narrowed as he took a long drag, holding it in his lungs as he pulled the wallet from his back pocket. He pinched a card from inside it and passed it through the window, turning his head away to exhale smoke. Dany held the card under the radio light. It read:

Jon Snow. Five foot eight inches. One-hundred sixty-five pounds. Hair black, eyes grey. Born just one year before her. And other than the lenses he wore in the photo, the face matched, too.

She passed the card back through the passenger window and asked, "Where are your glasses?"

"Home," he said, stuffing his license back into his wallet and shoving it in his jeans. "Wear contacts to work."

"Where do you work?"

"Does it matter?"

The question stumped her long enough that he turned away and started walking. She pushed the air from her lungs with a frustrated sigh, shifting the car into drive and coasting to catch up with him again.

"Hey," she called.

He didn't answer.

She tried again. "Jon?"

He stopped. Dany hit the brake and held it firm as he walked toward the window, pressing a hand against its edge to peer inside. This time, a street lamp flickered over his features, confirming that he _was_ much younger than she initially thought.

"You told me to fuck off."

"Yeah, well. I've reconsidered."

He took another long drag of his cigarette. "Is that right?"

"Highway's not safe," she smiled.

He smirked and backed away. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe not," she said. "Not with me behind the wheel."

Jon squinted at her.

"Don't know how to drive," she admitted. "Not really."

That made him laugh.

"Hey. Get in," she urged. "Please."

For a moment, he considered. Dany held eye contact through the window, hoping her expression looked tougher than she felt.

"All right," he finally relented.

As he walked around to the driver's side, she climbed into the passenger seat. He left the door open after getting in, the overhead light glowing as he finished the last of his smoke and crushed it into the ashtray. She used the time to study his face. In case she needed to describe him later. And because, perhaps against her better judgment, she liked what she saw.

The door slammed closed, leaving the pair in darkness. He kept his eyes on the road as they rolled off and she kept quiet. Three miles or so, they drove in silence, the only sound the wind whipping at the open windows.

After digging around his pocket for another cigarette, he drifted to the middle lane to light it, using an elbow to steady the steering wheel. The tip burned red as he drew from it. His chest swelled as he filled his lungs. He took it from his lips and held it between his fingers, palming the wheel to straighten it.

"You want one?" he asked, blowing smoke, considerately, out the window.

The habit both annoyed and aroused her. "No," she firmly stated. "I don't smoke."

When silence fell again, she found she preferred his voice.

"Those'll kill you, y'know," she added.

He let out a laugh. And a cough. Then said, "That's part of the appeal."

The sentiment picked at a wound that had only just started to scab over. Dany slumped in her seat, trying to keep her mind numb as her frozen legs. She watched the broken lane lines flash by, blurring together as the car sped. Her growling stomach broke her concentration. It wouldn't keep quiet. Though if Jon had heard it, he thankfully made no comment. It was only after another mile that he spoke again.

"We're coming up on some exits," he said. "I know you said it didn't matter where, but I'm not too creative. Just tell me where you want to go and I'll take you there."

"See, I disagree."

He raised a brow. "With what?"

"Giving your car away to a stranger is at least a _little_ creative."

He laughed. She liked the sound of it. So much that she wished she was funnier.

His eyes drifted from the road to her, then. "Maybe you're right," he said. "'Cause I've got an idea."

They were half a mile from the next exit. Already, Dany could see the trees growing sparser, the glow of a town across the field. They passed a big sign full of logos: a couple gas stations, motels, food chains. Her stomach snapped and snarled. She dragged her bag over it, hoping to deaden the embarrassing sounds, and maybe that empty feeling, too.

He flicked his turn signal, though there wasn't a single car around to see it. They took the exit, stopping at the red light at the end of the road. Each business featured on the sign was lumped together in what looked like a little town all its own. All the bright lights made it look warm.

The car pulled into a parking space. After snuffing his cigarette, Jon got out and made it all the way to the entrance before doubling back and approaching her window.

"C'mon."

She could smell it now, beef and cheese and grease. Her mouth began to water. "I'm fine," she lied. A lie that almost hurt to tell.

The look he gave through the window told her he didn't buy it. "Might as well come in. Thaw out. Take a leak if you need to." Not taking no for an answer, he opened the door so she could climb out.

Together, they walked up to what looked like a giant gas station. Inside the windows, Dany could see rows of snacks and magazines, coolers full of drinks in every conceivable color. It didn't help that hollow, hungry ache she felt.

Again, Jon held open the door for her. Once they were inside, that greasy smell struck her with its full force. There was an open burger counter and a small scatter of tables in front of it, most of them dirty with crumbs and drink stains.

"Gonna grab a bite," he said. "Want anything?"

"I'm fine," she lied again.

He gave a nod and pointed toward a hallway beside the dining area. "Toilets if you need 'em."

"Thanks."

Whether or not she had to go, she couldn't yet tell. She was still too cold. But she went inside anyway. Alone. The ladies' reeked like stale piss, with yellow, smoke-stained walls to match. Not a single stall had a working lock. Luckily, she was alone so it didn't matter. She picked the only toilet that had nothing in the bowl but water, and went, hovering over the seat. She stayed a moment longer, dragging her nails over her cold, itching legs. 

Afterward, Dany walked to the sinks. The image in the mirror almost horrified her. A blend of clashing colors reflected back at her—red nose and cheeks, eyes ringed in black circles, pale white lips on the verge of turning blue. The face resembled her brother's more than her own. 

Hoping to wash the memory away, she scrubbed her hands and face clean with the cheap, watered-down soap. Then she held her hands like a cup under the stream and drank. After drying off, she raked both hands through her hair, pulling the knots apart with her fingers. It helped some.

After wandering back into the hallway, she took slow steps toward the merchandise—thumbing through the magazines, staring over the rack at the snacks and wondering how many she might be able to fit in her bag, unnoticed.

"There you are."

Dany jumped and turned. Jon rocked on his heels, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. It was the first time she got a proper look at him. Jon Snow didn't belong in a sketchy gas station in the middle of nowhere. With those full lips and dark, soulful eyes, he had a face better suited for a magazine cover, much more-so than any of the men staring back at them from the shelves. He was downright gorgeous.

"Turns out my eyes were bigger than my stomach," he lied. Beyond him in the dining area sat a tray full of food and two huge drinks. The sight of it made her stomach rumble. "I thought maybe you could help me eat?"

Her throat was suddenly tight. Eyes and nose stinging again. All she could manage was a whisper. "I suppose I could have a couple bites."

Jon grinned, turning to lead the way. Discreetly, Dany wiped a tear from her cheek and followed suit. At the table, he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. So she did.

The tray held stacks of burgers, chicken sandwiches, nuggets, fries, and a pair of apple pies. There were even ranch and barbecue sauce cups and a squirt of ketchup, too.

"Dig in."

"Thank you, Jon. I-" The lump in her throat swelled, cutting off her words. "If you gave me a few days, I... I could pay you back."

"Mmh," he shook his head. "You know, it's me who owes you, if anything."

She took a nugget. "You owe _me_? How do you figure that?" 

" _Well_ ," he grinned, and grabbed one, too. "You did give me a car."

He held the chicken up as if to toast. And so, she tapped her piece to his. She stuffed it first in the ranch and then in her mouth, letting out a moan as the buttery taste hit her tongue. Showing no care for manners, she talked and chewed. "Hey, I never gave it back. I only said I couldn't drive." She grabbed for a second nugget before even finishing the first.

Popping his piece in his mouth, he smiled. "That's fair," he said, chewing, too. "It's still yours if you want it." Dark eyes ran down her face, hanging on her lips as she ate. "But there's one small condition, this time."

There was a sudden buzzing against the hard plastic seat. Jon looked down, pulling his phone from his pocket. His brow furrowed as he checked the screen before swiping to answer.

A woman's voice greeted him, Dany could hear her say his name: " _Jon Snow_?" 

He looked away, face wrinkled in a sudden glare. "Who's askin'?"

Dany tried to listen, but the words were muffled. The longer she went on, the more confused he looked. Then fed up.

"Look, I don't know where you got this number, but I don't know any _Dany_."

Her eyes went wide. She nudged his hand. "That's me," she mouthed and pointed to herself. " _I'm_ Dany."

"Oh," he said, eyes wide as he pulled the phone away from his ear and handed it to her. "Then I guess it's for you. Miss Sandy...?"

She let out a chuckle and took the phone. "Missi," she breathed.

" _I found you, thank gods. Tell me you're okay._ "

"I am," she answered. "More than I can say."

Jon rose from his seat. He nodded to the hallway before leaving the table, giving her a little privacy to talk.

" _Your phone's dead_."

"Is it? _Shit_."

" _Where are you now?"_

"I don't know," she admitted. "Some burger joint inside a gas station. We stopped for food."

On the other end, she could hear some typing. The click of a mouse. 

" _Snack 'N Dash_?"

Dany whipped her head around, peering over the tables and into the mart for signage. She laughed at the name. "That's the one."

" _And you trust this guy_?"

She flipped through their exchanges. Though there weren't many yet, he seemed... genuine. Harboring no ill will or malintent—unlike most of the men she'd known. Not at all pushy, maybe even a little aloof.

In the event there was ever any trouble, the girls had agreed on a code word she could use. "I think so," she said, choosing against using it before giving a more firm, " _Yes_."

Jon emerged from the hall, locking eyes with her briefly. Noticing the phone still pressed to her face, his hands slipped into his pockets and he wandered up to the magazines, instead. In her ear, Missandei rattled off all the precautions she already knew. But it made her feel better, so she didn't interrupt. But she did start to lose focus, Jon grabbing her attention, instead. Her eyes followed him. Appreciating his ripped jeans and the way they hugged his ass. And by the grace of the gods, he bent over. Pulled on a privacy jacket to sneak a peek at the adult mag behind it. Were she not on the phone, she might've laughed.

"I should go."

It wasn't till she hung up and placed the phone atop the table that he came back.

"How's Sandy?"

She chuckled. "Good."

"And you?" he casually asked, slipping again into his seat across from her.

"Better now," she admitted, taking a straw from the tray and poking it into the top of her cup. It was cola, so she discovered after a sip. She closed her eyes and sucked down a mouthful, savoring every sugary drop.

She tore into one chicken sandwich, then two, polishing both off in only a few bites each, barely chewing. Save for the savage noises on her part, they sat in silence. Jon watched the spectacle from across the table, stuffing only a few fries into his mouth. But if he had judged her at all, she couldn't tell.

Somewhere along the way, she lost her momentum. Her jaw was sore from all the chewing. It had been weeks, maybe months, since she'd eaten so much at once.

"Right. I'll go grab a bag," Jon finally said. He rubbed his hands together to brush them of excess salt, and took a sip of his Coke. "We'll take the rest home."

_Home_. The word echoed in her ears, twisted in her aching gut. Hearing the word made her wonder if she ever really knew what it meant.

. . .

Wherever it was Jon Snow called home wasn't where they ended up.

He'd turned into a large and barren parking lot. The car slowed to a stop diagonally across several empty spaces, under a row of ominous, flickering street lamps. An abandoned superstore, she noted, as he stuffed another still-smoking cigarette butt into the ashtray.

A thumb tapped absently at his steering wheel. "About that condition."

Dany's heart began to race. "For the car, you mean?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a peek of her, nodding as his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip. She remembered the last time she saw a look like that. From over the scale as Viserys weighed an eightball for his buyer—a lanky older man who always leered at her. A northerner, too, like Jon. He went on to ask her price, thankfully out of earshot from her brother, who might've just given one on her behalf, had he the chance.

She clutched the bag in her lap and, at the memory rather than Jon, spat, "I'm not a hooker."

He turned away to hide a laugh. "I know that."

Jon Snow was beautiful. Breathtaking, really. Twice as much or more than men she'd fucked for free. And, if those tight clothes were any indication, he had the body to match that face. He could lie there, let her do all the work, and she'd be thankful just to have had a go.

"Just figured you'd have offered by now," he added. "If you were, I mean."

In that moment, she found herself considering it. "Is that what you want?"

He shook his head. "No." And though he tried to wipe his expression clean, it didn't take long for his smirk to come back. "I want to teach you to drive."

She blinked. Her eyes went to the clock. It was just after two in the morning. "That might take a while."

He shrugged and turned the car off. "I've got time."

They switched seats. She left her bag on the floor at his feet. He cracked the window and lit another cigarette. When she went to shift the car into drive, he put a hand over hers to stop it. Her heart sped again. Leaning forward, he dragged the seatbelt over her chest and buckled her in, cigarette hanging on his lip just inches from her mouth. The smell of smoke was stifling. Inviting. She couldn't tell whether it was Jon or being behind the wheel that tripped her nerves.

The last time she drove, she hadn't yet made it into her teens. Feet barely touched the pedals, eyes able to see just over the dash. Her brother in the back seat shaking, gasping that he couldn't breathe. His fury once he realized she'd driven him to the emergency room. The pain in her scalp as he twisted her hair.

She let out a shaky breath and centered herself as best she could. Jon didn't rush her. There were some things she remembered. And after adjusting the mirrors, she showed him what. Turn the key in the ignition. Press the brake. Shift from park to drive. Lift your foot. Let go.

First, she practiced steering. Weaving her way through street lamps and parking blocks, dodging bumps and pot holes, braking for each imaginary stop sign Jon pointed out. His encouragement spurred her on. _Good_ , he'd said a few times. And, _You're a natural_. She pressed the gas and did it all again. Faster this time.

Once she knew how to signal, he directed her onto the road. After a few miles, her anxiety seemed to wane. No one was around, anyway. And with Jon, the silence was easy. Even when he said nothing at all for miles, she never felt alone beside him.

At each red light, she'd study him. The way he flexed his fists to crack his knuckles, the chunky old-style letters across each one that spelled: _C-R-O-W_. The ring of red light in his hair. The way it fell right back into his face after running a hand through it. The upside-down rose on his neck—thorny stem curled below his ear, withered grey petals turning black as they fell. Several stops later, he pushed up a sleeve. On his skin were what she took to be more black petals, until she recognized the shapes as birds. She imagined a whole flock of crows hidden there, just under his clothes.

"A nickname growing up," he told her, after having caught her checking out his ink. "'Cause all I ever wore was black."

She raised a brow, looking him up and down. Still dressed head-to-toe in black, crow was certainly apt. " _Wore_?" she teased.

That made him smile. A sad one that didn't last long. Balling his fist again, he ran a fingertip over each letter across his knuckles, his expression drooping.

The rose was for his mother, she learned. A mother that, like her, he never knew. His father, too, was gone before he was born. The tattoo grew into a memorial, not just for his parents, but for his uncles, an aunt, and his brothers, most of all. Like her, he'd lost two. The likeness was almost inconceivable.

Where they differed, though, was that Jon still had a few people left. Two sisters and a younger brother. Dany couldn't decide which was worse—a family decimated by tragedy, or never having had one to begin with. Losing Viserys was hard enough— _technically_ , she loved him, but she had never liked him at all.

"What about you?"

The question both startled and confused her. "What?"

"Have you got any tattoos?"

_Right_ , she remembered. _Tattoos_. "No," she admitted. "Never could afford one. Always wanted a dragon though."

He hummed as he considered it. "It would suit you."

"You think?" 

" _Don't tell me what to do_ ," he mocked, scrunching his face. " _Fuck off_."

The impression made her laugh. It felt good to laugh.

He scratched at his beard and added, "They're smart, too. Like you."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the compliment. This Jon Snow didn't seem like the type to bother with flattery.

"No? A full investigation from inside a stranger's car seems smart to me," he went on.

"It wasn't a _full_ investigation," she argued. "Just your name and address. Date of birth. Height. Weight..."

"What's even left to learn?" he wondered aloud. "Mother's maiden name? Work history? Dick size?"

She let out an awkward sputter, something between a gasp and a laugh, wondering if he could tell she'd thought about it.

He smirked. "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

His grin turned wicked. "No, I'm not," he agreed. When she glanced at the side mirror, her gaze caught on his. " _So_ ," he said, "What do I get to know about you, Dany?"

Hearing her name on his tongue made her shiver. "What would you like to know?"

He puffed his cigarette, eyeing her. "Well, for starters—that I didn't just say that shit to a minor."

She laughed. "Turned twenty a few months ago."

"Good." He flicked ash out the window. "'Cause you look a little young."

"Yeah? How young?"

"At least old enough to drive," he guessed, studying her. "But older, I hoped."

She shook her head. "It's a nice perk for those who don't drink or smoke."

That made him laugh. Then cough. "Point taken."

"My brother used to say it was the dragon's blood in our veins."

Jon considered for a moment. "That some newfangled drug I don't know?"

"No," she chuckled. "He was convinced we descended from dragons."

His eyes narrowed. He took a drag and held it in his lungs, speaking without any breath. "Like _, literal_ dragons?"

"Yeah, well," she shrugged. "He did take _a lot_ of drugs. A few too many."

A nod suggested that Jon had caught the implication, his expression intrigued. From what she could tell, he wasn't the type to pry. So she opened up the wound all on her own.

Like Jon, she was orphaned at birth. Taken in by a family friend until his death. For a few years, she bounced around Essos, in and out of foster homes until her brother came of age. He'd started selling in their time apart. Using, too. Always insisting he was in control, despite all evidence to the contrary. To his credit, it only took a few months before he could afford a place back in Westeros. Wasn't much, but it was all their own. And sure beat living in his car.

By then, Viserys had withered to skin and bones, seeing and hearing things that weren't there. And just when it started feeling like home—it was gone. And so was he. What little money she'd managed to save up went to his cremation. All progress lost. Back at square one.

The light ahead turned red. She pulled to a stop, and Jon reached for her hand. A warm thumb brushed over her skin. It wasn't till she closed her eyes, a rogue tear running down her cheek, that she realized she'd been crying.

Red turned to green. Like everything else, the moment vanished. Jon withdrew his hand. Dany's foot lifted from the brake.

"You should get the dragon," he said. "For your brother."

A sobering silence fell over them, then. They offered each other no condolences or apologies. No pity. There were no words that helped anyway. She could feel his eyes linger, though. They never left her.

Miles passed before Jon spoke again. His voice was softer, this time. "Make a right at the next light," he said.

He led them down a dark and uneven dirt road. She slowed the car to a crawl, softening the blow of each bump.

"The one at the end is us."

_Us_. The word sparked hope inside her. Hope that ought to be put out, just like his cigarette.

Dany pulled into the driveway, pebbles kicking up from the wheels. The headlights shone like spotlights across the overgrown lawn. There sat a small grey house—stone mottled with dirt and mold, windows drawn with broken shades, chimney puffing a long plume of smoke.

She parked the car and turned it off. Together, they hand-cranked their windows closed. Jon grabbed the food and her bag and got out. Frozen in the driver's seat, Dany sat and watched as he made it halfway up the steps before doubling back to open her car door.

He gestured toward his house. "C'mon inside."

This time, he waited for her to climb the steps up, following closely behind.

"It's unlocked."

After twisting the knob, she pushed it open and took a cautious step into the pitch-black room. The door closed behind her. She stood and waited, rubbing her arms for warmth as Jon shuffled about. He switched on a lamp. It didn't help much, but enough.

The room was dingy. Red walls, dark like his car. Like his front door. Furniture, dated and mismatched. A pair of black jackets hung by the front door, and another over a dining chair. Used ashtrays sat on every surface.

She smiled. It was definitely Jon's.

"Make yourself at home."

_In that case_ , Dany thought, and spun around to lock the deadbolt.

When she turned, her eyes went straight to the bright light in the kitchen—watching Jon as he dropped the bag of leftovers in his nearly-empty fridge. He kicked the door shut and met her eyes. "Oh," he said, catching sight of the door over her shoulder. "I like to keep it unlocked."

She walked to the kitchen, holding out a palm for her bag. Jon handed it over and leaned back against the counter.

"How come?" Dany asked, trying her best to sound casual as she dug through her belongings. "Girlfriend hasn't got a key?"

At first, he gave no answer, forcing her to meet his eyes. Dark and difficult to read.

"Haven't got one of those," he shrugged, his tone flat and firm. "I live alone."

"Oh." Jon wasn't interested in her, of _course_ not. He was just a good guy. Just giving her a ride, letting her keep warm for the night. Her face flushed hot. She felt overcome with a sudden urge to hide. "Bathroom?" she asked. "Have you got one of those?"

He frowned. "Just down the hall."

Dany gave an awkward smile before slipping past him. Quietly, she entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and turning on the light. The face in the mirror at least looked human this time. The blush in her cheeks certainly helped. She began to undress, stripping down to her underwear before realizing the only towel in the room was a hand towel.

She cracked the door. "Jon?" she called. "Have you got a spare towel?"

He didn't answer, but she heard footsteps move over the carpet. The squeak of metal hinges. The rustling of fabric. A shadow stretched across the hall, followed by a courtesy knock from the other side of the door—the look in his eye anything but courteous as he leered, passing a rolled-up towel through the crack.

Jon didn't linger, but the tingling feeling he'd given her had.

Dany left the door cracked and stripped off the rest of her clothes. She cranked the hot water, never once touching the cold. The small room filled with steam. The porcelain was so hot it burned her feet as she stepped into the tub. She could've cried from the relief.

She washed with a bar of green soap. Lathered her hair with a bottle of two-in-one shampoo. The scents were fresh and crisp and biting. Pine and woods and mint. Unapologetically masculine. But she liked them because they were his.

When the water began to run cold, she turned it off and stepped out onto the mat. When she unrolled the towel, clothing fell out of it and onto the floor—a shirt, shorts, and a pair of socks.

After drying off, she wrapped her hair. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the shirt over her head. The fabric was soft and full of small holes. The logo on the front was so cracked and faded she couldn't tell what it was. But she liked it because it was his.

She popped open the mirror and snooped through the cabinet: Cotton swabs. Rubbing alcohol. Bandages. Scissors. Over-the-counter pain killers. Nail clippers. Deodorant. Toothpaste. All of it surprisingly normal.

He'd told her to make herself at home, so she did. Dany swabbed her ears. Then she grabbed the stick of deodorant and popped the cap. She whispered an apology Jon would never hear, and swiped it under both arms. It had the same clean, sharp smell as the rest. From her bag, she fished out her toothbrush, running it under the water before helping herself to some of his paste, too. Then she scrubbed her teeth and tongue twice over.

After putting everything back in the cabinet, her eyes snagged on the scissors. Jon's words said one thing, his eyes another. In a snap decision, she grabbed them and offered another silent apology to the empty room. She hovered over the toilet to trim her pubic hair, then finished dressing. Balancing on one foot then the other, she stretched either sock over her calves. The shorts were a bit of a struggle to get over her thighs and hips, but they fit.

Dany stuffed her things back into her bag and switched off the light. The hallway was dark but for the yellow glow of an open door. She approached, lingering just outside to spy Jon in his bedroom, watching as he stuffed a pillow inside a black case. He'd since shed his jacket, the thin fabric of his sleeves stretching as the muscles flexed beneath.

After starting on a second pillow, he caught her staring. "Almost done," he promised.

"Oh." She flushed and shook her head. "I can crash on the couch."

"I crash there most nights," he admitted and walked towards her, smirking. "Wouldn't want you to impose."

It was as if he plucked the words straight from her mouth, reshaping them to fit his brand of effortless hospitality. She found it impossible to argue with, though the urge was definitely there.

"Changed the sheets," he said. "Didn't have a spare blanket, though. Apologies if it smells like me."

"I don't mind," she said, and without thinking, added, "You smell good."

His eyes narrowed. "Have you smelled me?"

"Indirectly, I guess." She looked away, pulling at the strap of her bag awkwardly. "I washed with your soaps."

Jon waited until she met his gaze again to lean in. She closed her eyes, half-expecting a kiss. Instead, she felt only his breath.

"I do smell good."

His eyes caught on hers as he backed away.

"Or maybe that's just you," he added.

He wet his lips and rubbed them together. Dany's eyes never left his mouth.

"Sleep well, Dany."

Her eyes followed him down the hallway into the darkness. Only after he disappeared did she find she could speak.

"You, too."

She switched off the light and plopped onto the bed. From her bag she retrieved her phone and charger, dragging her fingers along the wall to find the outlet. The phone buzzed to life once she plugged it in. Pulling back the blanket, she crawled into Jon's bed. The sheets were crisp and cool, the scent of fresh laundry clashing with the smell of smoke—by now, it was of little surprise she preferred the latter.

Once her phone had enough charge, she checked her messages, finding about half a dozen waiting for her, unread—all from Missandei. _Who else?_

To best allay her worries, Dany opened her camera app and turned it toward herself, letting the flash blind her as she took a photo.

_Still alive, see?_ she typed, attaching the awful selfie for her friend.

She sent a series of messages detailing her night, backspacing each time she started gushing about Jon. Despite it, Missi could clearly read between the lines and accused: _You like this guy_.

It became all the more apparent when she tried to fall asleep—her mind vividly imagining all the ways their mouths—and bodies—could fit together. And no matter how much she tossed and turned, the bed just felt too big, too empty, too cold.

Dany stripped off the blanket and got onto her feet. The room was frightfully dark, but for a faint flicker of light from the hallway. She followed it all the way into the living room, where a small television revealed that Jon had already passed out on the couch. Her eyes scaled his body, from the boots still on his feet and the jeans on his legs, up to the arm hanging off the couch, the still-lit cigarette in his hand.

Quickly, Dany intervened, grabbing it from between his fingers, careful not to disturb the glowing tower of ash and ember until it reached a nearby tray. She snuffed what was left of it, feeling a fleeting sense of horror wondering how many nights he'd fallen asleep this way.

After lifting his arm and bending it to rest across his chest, Dany walked to the foot of the couch and began to untie and loosen his laces. She pulled off his boots, careful not to wake him, and set them gently on the floor.

The television hummed, a reporter flatly recounting the disappearances along the interstate. A group of girls not unlike herself—a club she might've been a part of, if not for Jon's interference.

Hanging over the back of the couch was a crochet throw, tattered and likely handmade. She dragged it over his body, realizing it was a few inches shy of covering his feet. _It would have to be enough_ , she thought, just as all the generosity he'd extended her would have to be.

Dany took one last look at him before walking back to his room alone.

. . .

It was light out when Dany woke. She stumbled back into the hallway, straight into the living room. It wasn't Jon she found this time, but her brother, standing by the door with his arms folded, like he'd been waiting on her.

He smiled and nodded. Then turned and stepped through the door. 

_Wait! Where are you going?_

Dany shouted and ran after him. But when she reached the porch, he was gone. With a loud crack, day turned to night. She looked up to see why. A giant white dragon blocked the sun entirely as it flew into the sky, casting her in total darkness.

Her brother's voice echoed: _Home_.

With another crack, he disappeared. Warm sunlight poured over her.

A sudden buzzing startled Dany awake, her phone glaring brightly beside her. She shielded her eyes as she swiped it open. Another unsightly selfie later, she let Missandei know she was alive today, too—only then had she noticed the time. Three o'clock. She almost dreaded facing Jon after managing to sleep all through the day. Though she supposed it was his fault for not waking her.

She rose to her feet, stretching as she yawned. Through slitted eyes, she noticed a note on the bed and plucked it from the pillow.

_See you after work_

Dany let out a sigh and pressed the note to her heart, as if it might help the sudden fluttering she felt there.

There was no telling when, exactly, Jon might return home—so she kept herself busy. Thrilled to find a stacked washer and dryer hidden by the back door, she loaded her clothes then doubled-back through his house to collect whatever else she could find, including his towels.

The uncluttered floors inspired her to keep going. She cleaned the shower first since she'd used it. Then the whole bathroom. The kitchen came next—the counters and sink, even the fridge—which wasn't hard since there was nothing but their bag of leftovers, a few condiments, and a six-pack of ale. Under the sink she found a nearly-empty bottle of window cleaner. After using it to wipe down the dust-covered television set and bathroom mirror, she poured it out and replaced it with a little bit of the vodka from his kitchen counter.

She sprayed down the couch, employing the trick she'd learned from her brother to disguise the smell of smoke. _Better_ , she thought after taking a good whiff, and returned to the kitchen to have a look around. The cupboards were almost as bare as the fridge. After some consideration, she recalled a simple recipe that required just what he had on hand—and hoped that he wouldn't mind.

As it simmered, she cleared two spots at the dining table—emptying his ashtrays, stacking his mail, and making neat piles from his belongings. Just as she was finishing up, headlights streamed in through the windows. She felt suddenly flustered to see him again. Even her heart started racing as the car door slammed shut.

Dany stood in the kitchen, tucking her hair behind her ears for something to do with her hands, watching the door intently as the handle turned. Jon walked through, immediately locking eyes with her. He had on a pair of glasses, a black leather jacket, skin-tight jeans ripped at the knees—maybe even the same ones he'd had on last night. Greasy black curls hung over his eyes, and a cigarette, as usual, hung from his lip.

"You're still here." He seemed almost shocked to see her. But not disappointed, as she'd feared.

"Yeah, well," she smirked. "You took my car."

He laughed, hanging his jacket by the door. "It smells great in here. Almost like... _food_." That seemed to make him suspicious.

"Maybe because it _is_ food." Dany filled a bowl and grabbed a spoon, setting his helping on the table before returning to the kitchen for hers.

"But we don't _have_ any food," he insisted. "I swung by to grab you for burgers."

After setting her bowl down beside his, she took a seat. Jon had already made a significant dent in his chicken and dumplings. He'd since discarded his cigarette in the ashtray beside him.

"Seriously, though," he said, still chewing as he went in for another bite, "Where'd all this come from?"

"Your cupboards," she insisted. "I found bouillon cubes and flour, and a can of chicken. Don't worry, it wasn't expired. I checked," she assured him. "I did use the last of your butter, though."

Jon nodded, spooning several more bites into his mouth. It was like he'd never eaten before. She imagined what a typical night for Jon Snow might look like. Burning through a half-pack or more of cigarettes and feasting on greasy, late-night sliders with cola. Falling asleep to the news with a lit cigarette between his fingers.

"Maybe instead of burgers, you could spring for some groceries. Maybe a vegetable or two?"

"Don't know how much good it would do. Don't know how to cook," he admitted with a mouth full of food, then met her eyes. "Always wanted to know how to scramble an egg, though. You could teach me sometime."

"Yeah, maybe," she said and forced a smile. The longer she stuck around, she knew, the harder it would be to leave.

Jon pushed off the table then, and rose to his feet.

Dany held out her hand to dissuade him. "What do you need?"

He gestured toward the kitchen. "Just grabbin' some water."

"Let me." It wasn't much—but she was happy to help with what she could. Gods knew he'd done enough for her, already.

In the kitchen, she cracked some ice, adding the cubes to two glasses before filling them with tap water.

"You made ice too. _Fancy_ ," he commented as she set his drink in front of him. He grabbed it and washed down his food.

"Speaking of fancy," she said, clearing her throat and taking her seat again, "You've got quite a collection of pots and pans for someone who doesn't know how to cook."

"Oh. Those." He waved his hand as if to dismiss the observation entirely. "They came with the house."

Dany blinked. "What house comes with pots and pans?" she wondered aloud. She lowered her voice then, though there wasn't a soul around to hear her ask, "Are you squatting?"

"No," he laughed. "Y'know, you assumed I stole the car, too. Do I look like a criminal to you?"

"Sort of," she admitted. After all, she'd known enough of them to tell.

That only made him laugh harder. "Really? Even with the glasses?" he asked, pushing them up the bridge of his nose for emphasis.

"I guess not," she relented. "The glasses do help." They helped in other ways, too. Softened him somehow, made him look more approachable. Like maybe he was the type to make love instead of fuck. Suddenly, she remembered what he said when she asked why he wasn't wearing them last night. "But I thought you didn't wear glasses to work."

"Not to my day job, I don't. I was meant to have the day off, but they needed someone to cover the day shift at the liquor store."

"So that's where you work."

"At night," he nodded between bites.

"And during the day?"

"Landscaping."

She stared blankly at him, almost in disbelief.

"What?"

"You're a _landscaper?_ "

"Aye," he confirmed, taking a drink of his water. "What's that look for?"

"It's just—judging by your yard, I would _not_ have guessed."

" _Well_ ," he laughed, "I never said I enjoyed it."

"Fair enough." Dany had only ever had waitressing positions before, herself. Aside from the tips on good nights, she never cared for her jobs much, either—and waiting on her brother hand and foot was always the last thing she wanted to do after a long shift.

"My uncle got me the job. We used to work on the yard together." His grin faded. He glanced around, seemingly at nothing in particular. "It's actually his house."

"I thought you lived alone?"

"Aye. I do," he explained, "At least since he was declared legally dead."

"Oh." She looked down at her soup, tapping the spoon on the surface to watch it ripple. She already knew that he'd lost each of his uncles.

"They never found his body, though. That's why I keep the door unlocked," he admitted. "In part, anyway."

Dany met his eyes. "What's the other part?"

"That you'd remember my door was open. In case you ever needed a place to stay."

Her eyes and nose started stinging again. She looked down at her bowl, hoping that if she didn't blink, the tears that sprung in her eyes might dry before she could shed them.

The pair ate the rest of their meal in silence, exchanging only a few glances instead of words. When they were finished, Dany collected their bowls and walked them to the sink. Jon had, apparently, followed after her. Once she set them down, he tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Thank you for dinner," he said and leaned in for a quick kiss.

Even as he pulled away, it took a few seconds to register what had just happened. Not only that they'd kissed, but that it happened with the ease and intimacy of longterm partners. That it felt entirely natural. Like it was always meant to happen.

Dany just stared at him in stunned silence, afraid even to breathe for fear of ruining the moment.

"I don't know where that came from," Jon blurted, grimacing. "Sorry."

The apparent horror on his face made her laugh. "No, you're not," she accused.

Her playful reaction seemed to alleviate his worry—the lines in his forehead smoothed and he began to smile. "No, I'm not," he agreed, and leaned in again.

Their second kiss was everything a first kiss ought to be. Lips coming together slow and sweet, his tender fingers brushing either cheek. But the hunger had already taken root, and—like a plant sprouting in soil—it bore straight through, twisting and stretching till it reached the light.

Jon's hands turned impatient, roaming her body like they'd been set against the clock. Sinking into her hair. Sighing her name against her ear. Grabbing her by the neck. Waist. Hips. Desperate to feel her all over. He pressed his body against hers, overwhelming her, flooding her with warmth from head to toe. The counter's sharp edge dug into the small of her back—but the pain was nothing compared to the relief of his touch.

He pulled away, catching his breath to remind, "You don't owe me anything, Dany."

"I know." They kissed again. _Gods_ , she'd give him anything he wanted. But knew he wouldn't ask for it. So she teased, "It's you who owes me."

He smiled against her lips as she took another taste. "Is that right?" he asked.

They kissed again. "I gave you my car," she explained.

He pulled away in mock offense and shook his head. "I only borrowed it. You never gave it back."

"Well, I'm open to offers if you're interested."

He grinned. "How about now? You up for negotiating?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

Jon lifted her up and off her feet—cupping her bottom as she wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed onto his neck. It was an awkward walk to the bedroom, neither willing to stop kissing for the sake of a safe and streamlined trip, laughing together as he bumped her first into a wall, then into the doorframe.

"You all right?" he asked, both times.

"Yes," she said, twice.

She took off his glasses, tossing them onto a pile of folded laundry as they crossed the threshhold—the softest surface she could spot in short order.

He dropped her onto the bed—his body already on hers mid-bounce. She could feel him between her legs, under his jeans. Rock-hard and ready. Once he'd kissed her mouth sore, he lifted himself up, dragging at her shirt with his teeth. His lips tickled her skin, traveling over her belly up to her breasts. Her back bowed beneath him, enduring as many of his small tastes and bites as she could. Unsure whether she should laugh or cry out in delight, she pushed his head away.

The truth was that she wasn't conditioned for pleasure. She was made to be used.

She reached up to wind her fingers in his hair. "Fuck me, Jon," she begged.

In a flash, he was at his bedside, twisting on the lamp and pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. He pulled out a box of condoms, squinting as he read.

" _Shit_ ," he spat.

"What's wrong?"

"They're expired." He winced, tossing the box into the trash. Pulling at his hair, he paced back and forth. "Would it kill the mood if I ran to the store?"

Dany pressed her lips together. Then pulled her shirt over her head. Immediately, his eyes dropped to her breasts.

"I don't want you to leave," she said. "I want you to fuck me."

His brow furrowed. " _But_ -"

Sliding off the end of the bed, she got onto her knees and licked her lips. He seemed to understand then.

Jon made his way over. She reached for the button on his jeans and tore it open, dragging his zipper down as he pulled the shirt over his head. A murder of crows speckled his arm and shoulder, growing in size as he flexed. His body was even better than she had suspected. So perfect it bordered offensive. It got loads worse once she wriggled the jeans down his thighs. Thick and sturdy, perfect for sinking her teeth into. So she did. Kissing everywhere her lips could reach while on her knees—thighs, stomach, bulge, even his hands. He ran a thumb over her lip and popped it inside. She sucked it gratefully. Pulled down his boxer-briefs. Watched intently as his cock sprung free.

"Go on," he urged. "It's all yours."

His thumb slipped from her mouth. His hands sunk into her hair. His cock hung, flushed dark and webbed with veins, just inches from her watering mouth. The tip, too, was already wet. Salty, she discovered after unfurling her tongue for a small taste that made him shiver.

She peered up at him, hesitating. He looked down at her. She knew then she wanted him to use her. Till he'd taken all she had to give. Till she felt like his.

"Don't hold back," she said, and took him in her mouth.

He hissed. Gathered her hair in his hand and wrapped it around his fist. Using it like a handle to control her movements. Sliding her head back and forth on his cock. Increasing speed. Wetting his shaft. Making her drool.

"There you go."

She didn't know whether it was his words or his cock that made her face flush hot.

"A little bit deeper." 

She closed her eyes. Grabbed onto his thighs. Swallowed as much as she could as he guided her head. Muscles sore, jaw numb. And when she felt like she couldn't take another inch, he added a hand to the back of her neck and pushed her further down.

"That's it. Swallow it."

Tears streamed down her face. Breath hissed through his teeth.

"Go on. Almost there." His voice shook, quivering more with each command. 

Desperate to please him—she went too far, too fast. Tapped his leg and gagged. Fell back onto the floor gasping, wiping her eyes. Jon bent down, taking her chin in his hand, wiping the drool away. He planted a kiss right on her sloppy mouth, tongue soft as it bore in. Hot breath pushed from his nose over her face, her wet skin going cold. A string of saliva broke as he pulled away.

"Don't give up now," he encouraged, finding the perfect words to spur her on. Dany nodded, getting up onto her knees, willing her body to consume him as wholly as she craved to. She kept her eyes on his pelvis as she recovered. The furrow of his hips, the trail of hair, the raised veins in his skin. _Gods_ , she'd swallow all of him if she could.

He parted her sore lips with his thumb. "Open up."

His warm, wet cock slid over her tongue. Spit bubbled from her lips as he pushed inside, dribbled down her chin. He held her cheeks and neck, encouraged her further down, stretched open her throat. Slower, this time. Giving her a rest each time her muscles tightened, threatening to reject him if he kept going.

Then kept going anyway. Until her open lips kissed the soft skin near the base of his shaft. He pressed her face into his pelvis, his curls scratching her nose—the smell thick, musty, male.

"Hold it for me."

He stroked her hair and held her in place. She closed her eyes and held her breath. His cock pulsed between her lips, in her throat. The skin hot, salty, smooth. She kept him there as long as she could. Even as tears poured down her cheeks. Even as her sinuses clogged. Even as her nose dripped with snot.

Then she gagged. _Gods_ , the sounds he made as her throat squeezed him. She stayed though he tried to let her go, gagging on his cock, milking him of every last groan, grunt, and growl—certain now she'd earned them all. Only when her lungs started to burn did she pull away, heaving for breath.

"Good girl," he purred, bending down for another wet kiss. But her mouth was so numb she couldn't even feel it. But he could feel her. And that's all that mattered.

She grabbed onto his hips, staring up into his eyes and begged again, "Fuck me."

Jon kicked off his boots. She tore at his jeans and tugged them from his calves. He bent for another kiss then pushed her head back, angling her neck over the edge of the mattress. Propping a knee, he mounted her face. Took his cock in his hand, guided it to her lips and pushed in.

He held her head. Gripped her hair. Let out another groan as her tongue swished along the underside of his cock. She kept her mouth tight as he moved within it. Slurping. Sucking. Nails digging into his thighs to urge him deeper. Moaning, herself, just to make him grunt.

Her hands swept up his body, feeling his muscles move as he fucked her face, cunt empty and dripping, aching with envy. With each thrust, saliva sloshed from her mouth, his balls clapping her chin. Her eyes felt tight. Her jaw loose. Tongue heavy and tired. But she held on. And so did he, cradling her head in his hands, pumping faster and faster, grunting and groaning until he broke away and stumbled backwards.

Dany looked up at him through bleary eyes, dazed and disoriented as he stroked himself before her. Seconds later, and with very heavy panting, he buckled and tensed, held her head steady with a palm on her forehead and finished. Marking her chin, neck, and chest. Wiping the last of it on her mouth as it dribbled from the tip. She licked the bitter taste from her lips.

Using the bed for support, Jon hobbled back to his night stand briefly before returning and kneeling before her. He produced a box of tissues.

Dany plucked a few, wiping her eyes and chin, her neck and chest, and finally, blowing her nose. "I'm a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he assured her with a kiss. _Beautiful_. It wasn't true, it couldn't be, not right now—but the compliment made her head spin all the same.

"I got a little carried away," he added, cringing at himself. "I'm sorry."

She laughed. "No, you're not."

He forced a smile. "Just this one time," he promised, "I _am_."

"Well, you shouldn't be, 'Cause I'm not," she nudged his arm. "You gave me exactly what I asked for, and it was fucking _hot_."

He bit his lip. "Tell me what else you want."

Jon was knelt on his haunches in front of her. Gloriously naked. Hair and skin slick with sweat, eyes expectant.

She chose the honest answer and said: "Everything."

He arched a brow. The grin he wore turned wicked. And before she knew it, his arms had snaked under her legs and pulled her back up and onto the bed.

His body quivered as he settled on top of her, his skin hot and sticky. His lips found hers, the veil of dark hair that fell over her trapping the smell of come and sweat. It made her want to stretch her lips for him all over again. But when she reached for his cock, he batted her hand away.

"My turn," he purred, his palm slipping between their bodies. His eyes went wide. "You're soaked."

He lifted himself off of her, feet planted on the carpet. He leaned over her, and licked his lips. " _Gods_ ," he said, humming almost in delight. "I can smell you from here."

The comment embarrassed her, so she closed her legs.

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"You don't have to do that," she promised. She pressed her thighs together and lifted her knees to block his hands.

Jon stepped back and tilted his head for a better look at her bottom. His face looked like he'd taken a sudden sock to the gut. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath.

"Lending you those shorts was the best decision I ever made," he declared. "Next to picking you up, anyway."

She could feel herself spilling out the bottom. "They hardly fit."

"That's the appeal." He winked. Or tried to, anyway. He took another look, shaking his head at the sight like it was ridiculous. She gasped when his fingers fanned out over her ass, gripping and grazing. A thumb brushed gently over her cunt. He brought it to his mouth and sucked. It made her shiver. "At least let me return the favor," he begged.

"I haven't shaved," she blurted. Felt like she had to warn him. Men always had a preference. _One_ preference. Always expected a hairless snatch, even when they wouldn't put anything but their dick near it.

Jon just shrugged. "So? Neither have I."

Feeling self-conscious, she covered her face. Peering at him through her fingers, she nodded.

Still grinning, he bit his lip. Leaned forward and gave her ass a little spank before pushing down her legs. He slipped his fingers in her waistband and tugged. And tugged and tugged. They barely fit over her butt and thighs. It was a wonder the elastic didn't snap on the way down. It didn't help her embarrassment.

Jon fell to the floor right with the shorts, eyes peeled between her legs as he pulled them from her feet. He grabbed her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Pushed them up and spread her open. The compromising position hid nothing at all from him. Her cheeks burned from the shame of it.

He lowered his head, mouth meeting her cunt with an audible squish. When she covered her face again, he pulled away just long enough to insist, "Look at me."

So she did. Kept her eyes on him as he dragged his tongue up her slit, licked her lips. Watched his nose flatten as he lapped her up, face glistening with her wetness.

"Pull my hair," he said when he came up for air. "Show me where you want me."

Her fingers sunk into his curls, grabbing hold of them. She moved his face without rhyme or reason, just enjoying the sweep of his soft tongue, his hard nose, those fat lips of his as he sucked and slurped her up.

Her eyes glazed over. She couldn't watch any longer. She threw her head back, arched up from the mattress. Jon held on, pulled her closer. Sucked her harder, groaning like she was his favorite meal. _Gods_ , there was nothing in all the world like being wanted. The feeling pushed her straight to the edge. Whatever sounds he made were drowned with her own pitiful sobbing, then. She shook under his touch until her body went numb. She tingled from head to toe.

Jon climbed back onto the bed, his smile self-satisfied as he plopped next to her. She peered at him through crossed vision, his image blurring to two. His mouth came down on hers, cool and wet, coating her lips with her own taste. It was reminiscent of his, but less bitter, and not as bad as she had feared. He scooped her up and held her. Just held her. Till their skin turned cold and their limbs went numb. In his arms, she finally felt okay.

. . .

It was still dark out when she woke. The sun hadn't yet come up.

Jon was in bed beside her, asleep. Lifting herself up onto her elbows, Dany just watched him breathe.

Fragments of a dream came back to her, then. Something about a dragon. She thought she saw her brother, too. It was like she heard his voice then: _Home_.

She remembered now. Remembered how she found him in the living room, chased him outside until he disappeared from sight. The memory panicked her. She reached out to touch Jon, to stroke his curls. To make sure he was real. That he wouldn't vanish, too.

Her bladder demanded that she leave him, that she get out of bed and go. She tip-toed around the bedside and grabbed her phone from the charger, and took her bag from the floor. In the bathroom, she dressed. Dragging on her _cleaner_ but still-dirty clothes. From beside the front door she took Jon's jacket and slid it over her arms. In his pockets, she found his keys and his wallet. She took it out and opened it, plucking the forty dollars he'd mentioned from inside it. She stuffed the money into her pocket and threw his wallet on the dining table.

At the time she assumed he was lying. That he probably had more on hand he wasn't willing to share. But inside, there wasn't a single cent more. By now, it didn't surprise her at all.

He was a good man, Jon Snow.

Too good for her.

Dany dragged the strap of her bag up her shoulder and held it tight in her hand. She opened his door and left, sure to leave it unlocked.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


. . .

Jon was awake and outside, sitting on his steps when she pulled up. He wore a different jacket this time. Probably since she'd taken the one he'd had on last night.

As she shifted the car into park, she noticed how his mouth hung open, that his face looked distraught in the rising sun. He stood and approached the car, tugging the handle to open the door for her as she grabbed the bags from the passenger seat.

"You came back."

The shock in his voice hurt. She could've kicked herself for ever worrying him. She assumed he'd sleep through her absence. That she'd be back before he woke.

Dany couldn't help but frown. After swallowing the lump in her throat, she finally spoke:

"I should've left a note."

Jon pulled her into an embrace, so tight she feared her ribs might crack. He burrowed into her neck—nuzzled her, held her. Her nose and eyes started stinging again. She didn't care to stop it this time, even letting a tear or two fall as she sniffled and held him close.

When she started to shiver, he finally let her go.

"I took your money," she confessed.

"I know."

"You said I could have it."

He nodded. "I remember."

"Well, I got a couple things we needed."

She handed him the change from her pocket first, then passed him the plastic bag. Pulling apart the handles, he took one look inside and started to laugh. All she bought was a carton of eggs and a pack of condoms.

"You wanted to make scrambled eggs."

He raised a brow. "And you wanted-"

"-Everything," she reminded.

He grinned. "Then c'mon inside."

Jon took her hand and squeezed it. Dany followed closely behind as he led her up the steps and through the dark red door, back inside. Back home.

**Author's Note:**

> My gods. Yet _more_ thanks are in order for [Dragon_and_Direwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/), who surprised me by bringing these two to life. I don't deserve you. ♥
> 
> Sorry for the fake-out. Y'all know I'm only here for happy endings! As always, thanks for reading. ♥


End file.
